Chapter 44
Bree
Mom pulled me into her arms, her thumbs brushing my cheeks as she studied my face like she was trying to memorize it. “And if you need anything, I’m just a call away,” she said, her
voice firm but warm.
We were at the airport, surrounded by the hum of rolling suitcases, snippets of announcements from the overhead speakers, and the restless energy of travelers hurrying toward their gates. My flight was leaving soon, and with it, I was stepping into a new chapter of my life–Sierra Ridge. The university I never thought I’d be lucky enough to attend.
I told myself over and over that I’d make the best of it, no matter what. I wouldn’t care that Oliver would be there, that Jenna probably would be too. I refused to let them dictate this part of
my life. Instead, I’d focus on building something new: I’d make friends, I’d study hard, and I’d finally become the version of myself that anyone would be lucky to know.
“I know, Mom,” I said softly, trying to sound steady.
“Don’t bullshit me, kid.” She grinned, the corners of her mouth quirking up before she winked at me in that way only she could. “You better come home for Thanksgiving, or I’m flying up there and humiliating you in front of everyone, got it?”
I laughed, shaking my head. God, I loved her so much. She was my biggest fan, my most relentless cheerleader, the kind of mom who could make me laugh through tears. I threw my arms around her, hugging her tight, clinging for just a moment longer to the comfort of her
presence. She smelled like home–laundry detergent and the faint hint of the lavender lotion
she always used.
“I love you, Mom,” I whispered into her shoulder, squeezing harder.
“I love you too, kid.” Her voice broke just slightly before she pulled back, her hands still warm
on my arms. “Be good, be kind, and be savage to those who need an ass–kicking, got it?”
I cackled at that, shifting my crossover bag on my shoulder. “I’ll definitely provide an ass–kicking if they need it.”
“That’s my good girl,” she said proudly, her whole face lighting up as if she had no doubts in the world about me. Then she tugged me in for another hug. “You’re the best, Bree, don’t forget that. I know it, your dad knows it, everyone knows it.”
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Tears stung my eyes at her words. Mom believed with every fiber of her being that Dad was watching over us, laughing at our antics, guiding us through life from somewhere above. Every time the sun broke through the clouds or the wind played through her hair, she’d smile with this giddy, magnetic expression and look up at the sky like she could see him right there.
After Dad died, I used to think she’d eventually start dating again, that she’d find someone
new. She was beautiful and vibrant; men were always interested, always leaning in too close,
trying too hard. But she never cared. She always said Dad was her one true love. That even though he wasn’t here to hold her, to help her, to kiss her, he was still everything she would
ever need.
And now, after Gage, I finally understood her.
The thought of anyone else touching me, kissing me, calling me by some silly nickname–it
all felt hollow. Impossible. Like no one could ever measure up, like I’d always be comparing
them to him.
We said goodbye, and she waved at me like a maniac as I disappeared down the long
corridor of the airport. I beamed right back, waving with just as much ridiculous enthusiasm,
not caring who saw, not caring if strangers judged me. She was my anchor, and if she wanted
a dramatic farewell, she’d get one.
Soon I was tucked into a window seat on the plane, the hum of the engines vibrating through
the cabin as we taxied down the runway. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass,
watching the ground slip away, the fields and streets and tiny cars shrinking as we climbed
higher, until all I could see were clouds stretching like endless white cotton below me.
Beside me sat a couple who couldn’t seem to keep their lips off each other, busy trading
more saliva than oxygen. I tried to ignore them, pulling my crossover bag into my lap and rummaging inside until I found the journal Mom had given me. She’d pressed it into my
hands the night before, telling me to fill it with everything–my thoughts, my dreams, the
pieces of myself I was still figuring out.
I flipped open the cover, staring at the lined first page. The blank space felt intimidating, like it demanded something profound, some statement worthy of beginning a new life. My pencil
hovered above it, uncertain.
But then I shook my head. If I was going to write, I needed to do it the only way that felt real. The only way that felt true to me.
So, I started with him.
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“Dear Gage…
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I’m on an airplane right now. I think this might be the third or fourth time I’ve ever been on one. When I look back, I think the only time I ever flew before was with Mom and Dad when he took us to Disney World. Apparently it was a big dream for Mom, and I was just along for the ride.
But this time, I’m going to college. Sierra Ridge. I know I’ll be getting an amazing education there, one where I can learn and expand, one where I can do anything I want to. I’ll become the
most kick–ass teacher there has ever been, and I cannot wait to start that journey.
I’m excited to meet my dormmates. According to the mail I got, I’m headed toward Walton Tower. Apparently, it’s the oldest dorm building on campus, and I’m honestly excited to see it for myself. I just hope I get nice bunkmates, and that it isn’t a do–over with Gabriella and her
minions…
I just wish you were here.”
**
Sierra Ridge was breathtaking in a way that made me stop and stare. It wasn’t just a campus -it felt like stepping into a whole other world, like passing through the gates had transported me into some kind of theme park built for education and dreams. The entire place was surrounded either by tall, manicured hedges or solid brick walls, as if the rest of the world had been neatly shut out and all that existed was this new beginning.
The archway that marked the entrance carried the school’s name in bold, polished letters, and right beneath it, carved into stone, gleamed its motto: Excelsior ad Lucem. Ever higher toward the light. I thought about how fitting it was. A school with a reputation for producing brilliant students needed a motto like that–a reminder that we weren’t just here to learn facts, but to rise, to grow, to reach something brighter than what we left behind.
Campus itself felt enormous, sprawling in every direction. With every step I took, it seemed to stretch further, like a never–ending map I had only just begun to explore. My crossover bag dug into my shoulder, my duffel bag weighed down one side of me, and my suitcase dragged stubbornly behind, but I didn’t mind. All around me, other students were doing the same thing -lugging their belongings, scanning maps or signs, laughing as they bumped into old
friends.
I passed groups of people who already seemed like they belonged here, hugging, chatting, slipping into the easy comfort of familiarity. Then, right in front of me, a guy suddenly froze mid–step, his body stiffening. A girl called out, “Hudson!” Her voice carried across the
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walkway, hopeful, maybe even desperate. But the boy turned his back toward her, his face pale, and without a word, he spun around and bolted in the opposite direction. The girl hurried after him, calling his name again and again as if she could anchor him to her just by speaking it.
I couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped from me, shaking my head slightly at the drama.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one starting this place with baggage.
I followed the signs toward Walton Tower, the dorm that would be my home for however long
fate decided. The campus unfolded around me like a postcard: wide stone columns,
red–bricked buildings draped in ivy, wide lawns and scattered parks where students were
already sitting together on benches or stretched out in the grass, laughter bubbling through the late summer air. It was beautiful, picturesque, like the kind of place you’d see in a glossy
brochure.
Finally, I reached Walton Tower. Its name was etched in thick, timeworn letters into the stone above the entrance, and it loomed over me with the quiet authority of history. The building had the same red brick and ivy charm as the others, but you could see its age. Cracks in the
mortar, windows that looked slightly warped with time, corners where the ivy had sunk too
deep into the structure–it was like an old soldier still standing tall, proud but tired.
Taking in a deep breath, I pushed through the door and stepped inside. The ground floor buzzed with movement, students crisscrossing the lobby, carrying boxes, dragging bags,
greeting one another with nervous smiles. My room assignment was floor four, suite five. I
glanced up at the staircase and then at my suitcase. Four flights. My arms ached just thinking about it.
“Hey.”
I jumped, flinching slightly as I looked to my side. A guy was standing there, grinning down at me like I’d just become the highlight of his day.
“You going up?” he asked casually.
“Yeah.” I tugged a stray lock of hair behind my ear, shifting my weight awkwardly. “Eventually, I guess I have to.”
“I can help you,” he offered with a shrug, his hands slipping into his pockets like it was no big deal. “If you want me to, of course.”
I blinked at him. “You wanna help me?” My brow arched automatically, half skeptical, half
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curious.
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He just smiled wider. He was… handsome, in a very different way from what I was used to. Certainly not in the same league as Gage–because nobody was, not in my eyes–but there was something easy about him. His red curls caught the light, his freckles splashed across
his nose and cheeks made him look younger than he probably was, and his brown eyes
carried that glimmer of charm. His build screamed swimmer: lean, toned, balanced. The kind
of guy girls usually noticed right away.
“Yeah, sure,” he said brightly, showing off teeth so straight and white they could have been on
a toothpaste commercial. “How far up?”
“Fourth floor,” I admitted, flushing a little. “It’s pretty far up, and this thing is… heavy.”
“Not for me.” He smirked, shooting me a wink before he bent and lifted my suitcase as if it
weighed nothing. “I’m on the first floor, by the way. Suite three, if you ever need anything.” He
started up the stairs without hesitation, moving like it was second nature to haul strangers‘ luggage around.
“Lucky you,” I said, following him, my steps slower as I trailed behind. “How did you score a
room on the first floor?”
“My mom,” he called over his shoulder with a grin. “She’s friends with the guy who assigns
rooms.”
“Ah, connections,” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Always useful.”
By the time we reached the fourth landing, my chest was tight from the climb, but he didn’t even look winded. He set my suitcase down gently, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked
back at me.
“What suite are you in?”
“Suite five,” I said, heat rushing to my cheeks under his gaze. “But I got it from here. Really. Thank you for your help.”
“I like coffee,” he said suddenly, making me blink.
“What?”
“You could repay me with a cup of coffee,” he clarified, the corner of his mouth quirking.
“Oh.” Realization crashed down on me like a bucket of cold water. He wanted me to ask him
out.
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Embarrassment surged, a hot wave that prickled across my skin. The last time I’d asked a
guy out, it had ended in utter disaster. My chest tightened, memories of Oliver threatening to
suffocate me, but before I could even fumble out a response, something at the far end of the
corridor caught my attention.
It was just a shape at first, blurred by distance, but something about it tugged at me, drew me
closer without my consent. I squinted, trying to make sense of it–and then my breath
stuttered in my chest.
Oh God.
No. No, it couldn’t be. That wasn’t possible.
But there, only a few rooms down, was Jenna. She was standing with a guy, her body
language soft and relaxed, her smile too wide, too bright. She looked… happy. Carefree. And
then she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight, like the universe hadn’t shattered
between us just weeks ago.
And the guy she was hugging?
He wasn’t just anybody.
He was Gage Simmons.
And when his eyes lifted, they didn’t land on Jenna. They locked right onto me.
Emilia M
Bree’s getting a lot of attention, huh?
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